Chapter 22 - The Aftermath

The morning after the night out, Callie trudged into the office, her head pounding with the remnants of too little sleep and too much thinking. The overhead lights felt too bright, her coffee tasted too bitter, and her nerves prickled with the kind of tension that only came from unfinished conversations and unresolved emotions. She barely had time to put her bag down before she sensed the approaching storm.

"Well, well, well," came Ava's voice, far too loud and far too chipper for how Callie felt. "Look who decided to show up."

Callie didn't even have to look up to know that Ava was already standing by her desk, arms crossed, foot tapping, the beginnings of a theatrical interrogation bubbling behind her sly grin.

"Good morning to you too," Callie said dryly, slumping into her chair.

Ava plopped into the seat beside her with a dramatic sigh, like she'd been personally wounded. "So, are you ever going to stop ditching me without telling me?" she huffed. "Seriously, Cal. One second we're vibing on the dance floor, and the next—poof. Gone. I was about to send out a search party. Or at least demand your location via Find My Friends."

Callie pinched the bridge of her nose. "I didn't ditch you. I just… left."

Ava raised a brow. "Left? At midnight? On a Friday? Without saying anything? That sounds suspiciously like ditching, bestie."

Callie didn't answer right away. Her mind drifted back to the night before—the music thumping in her ears, the heat of the crowded bar, and then the quiet moment outside with Blake. She remembered how natural it had felt to talk to him again, like picking up an old melody. But then there was the way Dave had looked at her when she'd returned inside, eyes shadowed and hard to read. Something had passed between them, silent and sharp.

And now, all of it tangled in her chest like threads she couldn't quite untangle.

"It was just… a long night," she muttered finally.

Ava gave her a pointed look, one eyebrow arched so high it practically reached her hairline. "A long night, huh? That better not be code for you went home with someone and didn't spill the tea."

Callie rolled her eyes, grateful and slightly amazed at how Ava could make even her worst mornings feel slightly more bearable. "There's no tea. I just needed air. Time to think. That's all."

"Right. You, the woman who overthinks ordering coffee, suddenly needs time to think in the middle of a night out?" Ava leaned in. "I'm not buying it."

Before Callie could reply—or dodge the inquisition entirely—the office door opened with a loud thunk. The atmosphere shifted instantly.

Dave Howard walked in, dressed sharply as always, but his expression was all wrong. The calm professionalism he usually wore like armor was gone, replaced with something more brittle. His jaw was tight, his eyes unreadable, and his posture radiated irritation. He didn't offer his usual nod of acknowledgment. Instead, he made a beeline for his office and shut the door behind him with a pointed click.

Ava turned her head and blinked. "Well damn. Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed."

Callie kept her face neutral, but her stomach twisted again. She had a suspicion about why Dave looked like he wanted to punch a wall, and it wasn't just because of a bad commute.

"Maybe he's just stressed," she said, trying to sound casual. "End of the quarter and all that."

Ava gave her a slow, suspicious glance. "Uh-huh. And maybe pigs fly. No offense, but the timing is a little too interesting. He was fine yesterday. Today? He looks like someone stole his puppy."

Callie bit her lip. She knew Ava was fishing, but even she couldn't explain the tension that had passed between her and Dave at the bar—or the cold silence that had followed. There had always been something quietly charged between them, something neither of them had dared to touch. But now, it felt like something had shifted.

And she wasn't sure if it was for better or worse.

"You think it's about you?" Ava asked suddenly, voice low.

Callie startled slightly. "What?"

"You and Dave," Ava whispered, leaning closer. "I mean, c'mon. The way he looks at you sometimes? If looks could talk, his would be a whole damn novel."

Callie blinked, caught off guard. She opened her mouth, then closed it again, unsure how to even begin responding. Was she imagining things? Or had Ava seen it too—that flicker of something between them?

Before she could figure it out, Dave's door opened again. He stepped out, a file in hand, expression still stormy.

He didn't look at Callie. Not even a glance.

And somehow, that said more than anything.